


A Process of Elimination

by maybe



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cute, Drunk!Anderson, Eventual Johnlock, Fluffy, Johnlock - Freeform, Jokes, M/M, drunk!lestrade, eventual Mystrade, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybe/pseuds/maybe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night of drinking, Anderson and Lestrade find out that Sherlock may have a secret lover. But who could it be? (Okay, so you know who it is, but they don't!) And what other secrets are being kept under wraps around Scotland Yard?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Game About Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticisms are encouraged!

It was after hours at Scotland Yard. Greg Lestrade had called in a pizza and Anderson had brought beers and everyone was having a pretty good time. The topic of conversation had shifted to Sherlock. "Sherlock hasn't had sex in such a long time," Anderson drawled, "A woman asked to go back to his apartment and he told her he wasn't interested in subletting." It earned an appreciative round of laughter from the group....and then it became a game.

"Sherlock hasn't had sex in such a long time, he almost couldn't solve the Manchester case because the idea of a mistress hadn't occurred to him," Sally Donovan sneered. 

"Sherlock hasn't had sex in such a long time, a woman slipped him her number and he figured it was a code he was supposed to crack," one of the forensics specialists offered, getting an outburst of laughter in return. 

"Sherlock hasn't got laid in such a long time," Greg started, his words already beginning to slur a bit, "A prostitute asked him what his favorite position was and he told her, 'I don't play football.'" The room exploded with laughter, some toasting with their beer bottles, while others simply took a hearty gulp in celebration. The game continued, each person trying to one-up the last in cleverness or crudeness. Some were well-orchestrated, ("Sherlock hasn't had sex in such a long time, his 69th case was that of a man with a string of lovers and he didn't see the humor.") while others were barely half-thought out ("....something about DNA fingerprinting..."). 

By the end of the night, rounding on 3 a.m. everyone had left, except for Lestrade and Anderson, who drunkenly exchanged Sherlock jokes over yet another drink. Greg giggled childishly at what Anderson had just said. "Oh that's a good one! That's sssssooo good! Oh you have to tell him!" Greg took out his mobile and began to fumble, punching Sherlock's number as Anderson tried to keep himself from laughing. Lestrade put it on speakerphone, and after a long time ringing, the consulting detective picked up. He sounded slightly out of breath, with audible short puffs into the receiver. "What. Do. You. Want?" Greg giggled and pointed at Anderson, who calmed himself enough to happily say, "Sherlock hasn't got laid in such a long time, the only G string he's ever touched is the one on his violin!" There was a silence, and then, even in their thoroughly inebriated states, Anderson and Greg Lestrade both heard it. Very faintly, on the other end of the line, a voice half-cried, "Oh Sherlock....come back to bed!" The consulting detective hung up abruptly, leaving the two men gaping at the phone, struck silent. "We'll figure this out....when we're sober." Greg managed. Anderson hiccuped in agreement and the two men left the building without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the encouragement, darlings! It seems I'm going to do this as little, bite-sized chapters- I hope that's alright. Just as before, I'd love to see your comments, feedback and scathing criticisms in the comments!

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa when the doctor stepped out of Sherlock's bedroom, wearing his t-shirt from earlier and his pants; he had left his trousers in the bedroom. John stared down at himself. Red pants, godforsaken red pants, he thought. He hadn't known- how could he have?- that he would end up in Sherlock's bed the previous night. God, if he'd known he would've worn something less... conspicuous . Sherlock was wearing only the blue silk robe, his hair tousled. When John entered, he sat upright, but said nothing, only looked at him. John cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Uh Sherlock," he started, "I er...last night was...thank you. NO. No, not thank you, but well I mean..." John stumbled over his words.  
"Save your breath," Sherlock said, his voice low and rumbling, "As usual, I know what you're trying to convey." John snorted.  
"That's hardly the usual," he said, striding over to where the detective was sitting.  
"It's the truth," Sherlock stated.  
"Oh?" John asked, "Then what do you call last night? ‘S a bloody miracle I finally got the balls to kiss you." Sherlock frowned. "Miracles are imaginary. They don't exist." He paused, then pulled John towards him by the waist, so that he now stood in between the detective's long legs. "That being said.... thank you for the bloody miracle." John grinned and bent down to cup Sherlock's chin and kiss him (bending down to kiss Sherlock! What a novelty!). Sherlock deepened the kiss almost immediately, and attempted to pull John into his lap properly, but John resisted. "Ah ah ah," he said, pulling away. "Easy, we have work today." He stepped away and, he could've sworn he actually saw a pout cross the other man's face.  
"It's Saturday," Sherlock relented.  
"He knows the days of the week!" John said mockingly, prancing over to the kitchen. "Lestrade texted me this morning, says he has a case for you...us." 

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked. 

"Making tea." 

"You always make tea." 

"Do you want some then?" 

"... yes."  
John hummed as he put the kettle on, and Sherlock dragged himself across the flat to stand behind John. John felt long arms wrap around his torso from behind, fingers splaying across his stomach, then reaching down, straight for his- "SHERLOCK!" John yelped, jumping away.   
"Bored," Sherlock explained.   
"We have work today! That's not an excuse!" John reprimanded. Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Bored," he repeated.   
"You can't just do that," John stuttered, "They're _my _genitals!"__   
"Not last night they weren't."   
"SHERLOCK!" The detective only smirked, satisfied with the other's reaction. John blushed furiously as he poured the tea and sat opposite Sherlock at the kitchen table. "What's the case on?" Sherlock asked, staring into his teacup.   
"Dunno," John answered, "Greg just said to meet him for lunch and he'd tell us the details then." John shrugged and Sherlock toyed with the collar of his dressing gown, pulling it open to expose the pale expanse of his chest and neck, which John had refrained from marking the previous night for fear that 'people will talk'. John groaned, "You're just trying to make it as hard as possible for me to leave, aren't you?" Sherlock grinned, "Oh, bravo. Really, you should be the detective, not me." John took a final sip of his tea and stood, shaking his head.   
"I'm going to get dressed. You should, too." When John returned, Sherlock had, thankfully, taken John's suggestion. "Oh, and by the way, who called last night?" John asked as Sherlock adjusted his trademark blue scarf. The detective paused, watched John's expression. He was obviously worried that whoever might've heard him with Sherlock might be able to figure out what they'd been up to. Their knowledge of this would compromise the fate of their relationship, John would think. "Wrong number," Sherlock said, before briskly leading the way out of the flat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback make me as happy as John when Sherlock does the grocery shopping :3 Thanks guys!

Sherlock and John took a cab to the diner near Scotland Yard, where Greg had requested they meet. On the way there, John allowed only hand-holding, which Sherlock didn't mind, as he was busy analyzing the cab driver. Left-handed, short-tempered, he had two sons: one in secondary school and the other had just recently moved to America to join the army, which was the cause of his recent insomnia and....chain smoking. That at least was obvious, Sherlock could smell the nicotine off of the back of his neck, even from the backseat. Sherlock's grip on John's hand tightened just slightly. As there hadn't been a case recently, he'd neglected to use a nicotine patch this morning, as John had trying to ease him off those as well, recently. John was smiling a little, looking out the window, so Sherlock watched his face instead. In fact, that was how Sherlock spent the remainder of the ride, not deducing, but simply watching the shadows flicker across John's cheeks. It was not as fascinating as ordinary people made it out to be, but it eased Sherlock's cigarette craving just enough.  
They entered the diner a respectable distance from each other, not holding hands. Greg waved at them from a corner booth. John waved back and Sherlock deduced that the passing waitress was working to pay for her son's private high school tuition since her husband had recently been laid off. It was a pity he was also cheating on her. They slid onto the seat opposite Greg. John sat on the inside where the menu was placed, knowing that Sherlock probably wouldn't eat. Greg was watching Sherlock with ill-disguised scrutiny, carefully inspecting the man's expression, the state of his clothes, anything to confirm what he and Anderson had suspected from the phone call last night. John was just about to remark on Greg's behavior when the waitress, the same woman Sherlock had been deducing, came over to take their order. Greg ordered a turkey sandwich and John a BLT. At the last minute, Sherlock requested a vanilla milkshake. Greg and John both gaped at the detective, who only looked at them with a blank expression.   
"So, uh, the case?" John asked, after a few more moments of watching Greg watch Sherlock.   
"Right, yes," the detective inspector said, blinking a few times as if just waking up. "There's been a murder of a young couple and their infant child in a cottage in the south of Birmingham. We suspect that the husband first shot the wife and then used a-" "Wrong," Sherlock interrupted, brushing his knee against John's as he said it. It was really quite smart, John realized, as the change in his own expression seemed be caused by Sherlock's rudeness, as opposed to the contact. 

"But I've barely told you any details of the case...how do you already know?" 

"I don't," Sherlock said, "But it's usually a good hunch to first assume that whatever you've assumed is completely wrong," Sherlock said matter-of-factly, just as their food arrived.  
"Hey, where were you last night?" Greg asked suddenly, and a bit sharply. John tensed, but Sherlock was cool under pressure, as usual. 

"Meditation, Lestrade. I believe you're familiar with my Mind Palace." Greg nodded, narrowing his eyes slightly. Sherlock took a sip of his milkshake. "John had a date," he said softly. 

"Hm," Lestrade said through a mouthful of food. John was looking at Sherlock, which was when he realized the peculiar way in which he was drinking the milkshake. He was practically kissing the straw, moving his lips around it. John was finding it turned him on just a little, and that that was probably Sherlock's motive, anyway. 

"Yes,"John said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "I'm surprised you noticed, you rarely ever do when you're...in your mind palace," John said dryly. "Well, it's obvious from your current state," Sherlock explained. Greg had still been studying Sherlock, but now switched his gaze to John, quirking an eyebrow. "His shirt," Sherlock began without being prompted, "Unbuttoned one more button than usual, a sign of his confidence at last night. His hair, slightly more ruffled than usual as he's paying more attention to his physical appearance. The way he keeps staring off with a little smile, obviously remembering, reminiscing." John glanced at Sherlock, for he could've sworn he heard something like affection in the last statement. "So, you think she's a keeper, eh John?" Greg teased. 

"We'll see," John replied, "Can't get too cocky now, it's only been one date." Greg nodded. They ate the rest of their meals in silence. John and Greg watched Sherlock; Sherlock watched his milkshake, and the waitress. 

"Back to the Yard after this, look at some more evidence?" Greg asked, more to Sherlock than to John. It seemed Sherlock didn't hear him, or didn't care to respond. "Uh. Yes. Sure," John said awkwardly. Thankfully, the bill came. Greg reached for it but John insisted they split it. John paid for Sherlock's milkshake and Sherlock left a 50 pound note on the table, under the sugar container. "You do realize the amount of money you've just put down," John muttered as they turned to leave, "Or has currency value been cut out of the mind palace as well?" Sherlock made a small snorting noise. "It'll give her a little money to help with the finances. Perhaps now she'll be able to set aside some of her wages for a decent divorce lawyer." "She's getting divorced?" John asked, glancing back. "If she has any sense, she will soon."

Anderson rushed up to Lestrade just as soon as Sherlock was preoccupied. "So, do you know?" he asked eagerly, "I mean do you know who he...I mean if he?" Greg nodded. "I'm at least positive he got some last night, or something else has radically altered his mood," Greg said, shooting glances back to Sherlock, who appeared to be explaining some details of the crime to John. "Altered how?" Anderson asked, "Well, he only insulted anyone once, left a hefty tip for the waitress and..." Greg dropped his voice, as if telling a very private secret, "He ordered a milkshake." Anderson's eyes went wide and he emitted one giggle, which he quickly stifled. "Some shag it must've been," Anderson grumbled, "Do we have any idea who it is?" "Not even the foggiest."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a bit long since the last update! Thank you for all of the positive feedback! Please let me know if you'd like chapters in future works to be longer than these?
> 
> Once again, your comments make me as happy as Sherlock with a triple homicide case ^.^

Sherlock examined the photographs of the crime scene spread out on the table all at once. Greg had offered to drive him and John to Birmingham tomorrow, as it was too late today. Sherlock doubted he would need the trip, but obliged. "Any ideas?" John asked from behind Sherlock.   
"Four, so far," Sherlock muttered. "Babysitter, past mate, secret affair, past romantic partner." Sherlock ticked the options off on his fingers. "Babysitter is most likely," he added.   
"Why the babysitter?"   
"Mental disturbance," Sherlock said, "Probably not present in her background check the parents would have done before hiring her, but these things tend to go unnoticed or misdiagnosed." Lestrade walked over to the table, hearing the last bit of the conversation. "Babysitter? Where did you get that from? How did you know they have-"   
"A young couple with a two year old child, both working full-time jobs. Really, Lestrade. Of course they had a babysitter," Sherlock scoffed. John's hand brushed Sherlock's on the table and he softened. "Would you like me to walk you through it?" Sherlock asked, with only a slight edge to his voice.   
"Okay," Greg said, staring at the photographs.   
"This," Sherlock pointed, "Two half-finished coffee mugs, the gun next to the father, he has specks of blood on him, one would assume from the murder of the other two. But then there's the fact that his time of death was estimated around the same as that of his wife and child, correct?" Lestrade nodded. "From his phone," Sherlock picked up the bagged piece of evidence. He plucked the phone from the case and pushed a few buttons, then proudly displayed the screen to Lestrade and then John. "A reminder that reads 'Emily babysits Jeremy, 9am-6pm'. While babysitting, she drugs the creamer, which is present in both coffees. She comes in the next morning after she assumes they've drank it, then shoots the child and mother, framing the father for the murders."   
"What's the motive, though?" Lestrade asked, arms crossed.   
"Mental illness," Sherlock explained, "I assume she meant only to kill one of the parents, probably due to unrequited love, these things usually are. Having seen they'd both taken the poison, she...overcompensated," Sherlock said somewhat grimly. "You can try to contact Miss Emily, the babysitter, but I feel there's a high chance she's killed herself as well by now. Have Anderson run a test on the coffees, see what comes up." Lestrade's brow furrowed as he jotted down Sherlock's deduction.   
"Do you still want to come to Birmingham tomorrow?" he asked.   
"Only if you feel it really necessary," Sherlock said, readjusting his scarf and heading for the door. "Text me if I'm needed!" Sherlock called over his shoulder, John gave a nod to Greg and followed out.  
Greg did a double take, as he could've sworn he saw John take Sherlock's hand for a brief moment. "So, do we know who he slept with now?" Anderson asked, somewhat impatiently. "Er...no," Greg said, "I think we're going to have to do some questioning." Anderson gave Greg a confused look.   
"But...he thinks...isn't the woman already...dead?"   
"Not for the case," Greg said, "I was thinking a more...personal interrogation of sorts."

John followed Sherlock, once they were a good distance from the Yard, he glanced backwards once more, then took Sherlock's hand in his own. Sherlock entwined their fingers. John watched Sherlock's face. He was staring straight ahead, probably still in thought, but he noticed a small smile flicker across the detective's face at the touch. "Sherlock?" John asked, as the taller man hailed a cab with his free hand.   
"Yes?"   
"What you were saying before....about mental illnesses often being misdiagnosed...you said it so...like you knew about it from more than just research." They both climbed into a taxi, and Sherlock faced John, a curious look on his face.   
"Your deductive skills are getting better, doctor," Sherlock said dryly. "I do not have Asperger's Syndrome, nor am I manic-depressive, or bipolar," he scoffed. "I am a-" "-high-functioning sociopath," John finished. "And no, you're not, Sherlock." He looked down at their still-entwined fingers. "A sociopath is someone who is only concerned with their personal desires. This causes them to act in a way that is selfish, antisocial, and at times, immoral," John said, as if reciting. "I hardly think you fit that definition anymore. Not that you ever really did. " Sherlock's eyes scanned John's face.   
"Am I your boyfriend, John?" he asked abruptly.   
"Do you want to be?" John asked, confused.   
"Considering that we already live together, share meals on a regular basis, have already kissed and had intercourse- albeit in secrecy- it seems only fit that I-" "-Sherlock," John interrupted. "That doesn't answer my question, and you know it. I'll ask again. Do you _want _to be my boyfriend?" Sherlock was silent. He turned away, looking forward as opposed to facing John. John's heart sank. Had he misjudged Sherlock? Had he really just built it all up in his head? This had been just a one night stand. Oh, god.__   
But then, "Obviously," Sherlock said very quietly.   
"What?" John asked, his voice cracking slightly. Sherlock sighed.   
"You asked me if I wanted to be your boyfriend. And I said 'obviously'. Really John..." Sherlock smirked and John elbowed him in the ribs. Sherlock merely chuckled and placed a kiss on John's forehead. The two exited the cab happily and entered 221B still holding hands. Sherlock had yet to notice that he had a missed call from Lestrade.


End file.
